I glanced at the telegram. It was from Felix in Paris to Olivia at Marshminster, and stated that he was going to Italy in a few days, but hoped to return for the wedding. I handed it back without remark, but it struck me as strange that such matter should have been sent by wire instead of by post. The telegram to my mind was only another move in the game Felix was playing so boldly. "Well, Denham," he said, restoring it to his pocket, "you see by that telegram that Felix is in Paris, and if so I must be Francis." "In that case," said I, looking at him keenly, "who is the dead man at the Fen Inn." "There is none there!" he answered jestingly, yet with a lurking anxiety which I was quick to note; "I have no third brother. We are twins, not triplets." I vouchsafed no reply to this witticism, which I judged to be in bad taste, but rode on rapidly. By this time we had left the town far behind, and were some way on the winding road which crossed the marshes. Miss Bellin evidently did not desire to talk, for she pushed forward well in front, and as Felix also relapsed into silence, we rode on smartly without uttering a word. A more dismal riding party I never saw. The keen wind brought a touch of color into the pale cheeks of Olivia, but she had dark circles under her eyes and looked considerably worried. Felix rode by her side and addressed her every now and then, but I was too far in the rear to know what they said. I felt anything but comfortable while in their company, as they regarded me with great disfavor. "Never mind," I thought, touching my horse with the whip, "once I bring Felix face to face with his dead brother he will be forced to abandon these airs. At whatever cost I must tear the mask off him, if only for the sake of that poor girl who believes so firmly in such a villain." There was no change in the appearance of the Fen Inn as we rode up to it, save that it looked more ruinous than ever. The solitary building had a sinister aspect, and even in the bright sunshine hinted at secret murder. I noticed how thick grew the grass round the house, thereby marking more strongly its desertion and desolation. Sure enough, it had not been inhabited for a considerable period, and this fact alone roused my suspicions as to the motives of Strent and his daughter. They could have no good design in staying in so haggard a dwelling. "You see the inn is a ruin," said Olivia, pointing toward it with her riding whip; "no one could find shelter there even for one night." "I did, Miss Bellin." "It was a dream," she answered, "an idle dream. You may have slept there, but you never met Francis within its walls." "We are on a fool's errand," said Felix derisively; "I thought so all along." "Come and see," I said, dismounting at the door of the inn; "he laughs best who laughs last."